Chapter 18 Evie
Evie
I wake up warm.
Which is not normal for me.
My room is usually cold in the morning because the house is old and the ocean air finds every crack. My bed is usually mine alone, with one pillow stolen by Grandma at some point and never returned. My mornings are usually a checklist: meds, coffee, diner, survive.
This morning I wake up warm because there’s a body pressed against mine and an arm draped over my waist like it belongs there.
My eyes crack open.
Kaia’s hair is everywhere—dark strands across my collarbone, across the pillow, across my mouth. Her face is tucked into the space between my shoulder and my neck, breathing slow and soft.
For one dangerous second, my brain tries to pretend. It tries to rewrite the world into something simple.
We got our almost. We got our kiss. We got our—
My chest tightens.
Because this is not simple.
Because sex does not fix the way she left.
Because the festival is today.
Because demons don’t care about afterglow.
Because Kaia is still going to leave eventually and I am still the girl standing on the pier watching her disappear.
My throat closes hard enough it wakes me more fully.
Kaia shifts. Her arm tightens around me, instinctive. Her mouth brushes my skin in a half-asleep kiss that makes my stomach flip despite myself.
“Mm,” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “Evie.”
The way she says my name sends shivers down my spine. I squirm a little and she notices. Kaia’s laugh is quiet, warm. She lifts her head just enough to blink at me, eyes soft and puffy and so unguarded it feels unfair.
“Good morning,” she says.
I should be mean. I should be cold. I should roll out of bed and pretend last night was a hallucination induced by salt air and unresolved trauma.
Instead I say, “Morning,” like I’m normal.
Kaia smiles like I just handed her a gift.
Not the stage smile. Not the interview smile. Not the careful, polite one she’s been wearing around me like armor.
This one hits different.
It spreads like she can’t keep it contained. Like it starts in her chest and climbs up into her eyes and takes over her entire face.
You smile with your whole face, I hear my own teenage voice in my head, smug and affectionate. Not just your mouth.
This is the first real smile I’ve seen in years. Which is insane, considering I’ve seen her face everywhere—posters, billboards, screens in the diner, commercials, fan-cams—Kaia Rhee turned into a product the world consumes for fun.
But none of those versions of her ever looked like this.
None of them ever looked like Kaia.
And suddenly, she feels real in a way that makes my chest go tight. Like if I blink too hard, she’ll turn back into pixels.
Kaia pushes up onto her elbow, hair sliding over her shoulder in a dark curtain. The sheet slips down her arm. I look away on instinct, then immediately resent myself for it because I spent half the night with my mouth on her and now I’m acting shy.
Kaia catches my reaction anyway.
Her smile turns fond and soft in a way that feels illegal on her face. “You’re gorgeous, Evie…”
My cheeks heat. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re—” I gesture vaguely, furious at words. “Happy.”
Kaia’s smile deepens. “I am.”
That should make me feel warm.
It makes me nervous.
Kaia shifts a little closer, and when her eyes catch mine, something flashes in them—deep, vivid purple, like a bruise made of light.
Just for a second.
Then it’s gone.
My hand moves before I can overthink it. I reach up and cup her face. Kaia leans into my palm like she’s been waiting for permission.
And then she notices the way I’m staring—not at her mouth, not at the sheet, not at the obvious.
At her eyes.
Kaia blinks. “What?”
“Your eyes. They just did that thing where they glow. The ‘Halo Glint’. I thought that was… reflective contacts and stage lights though?”
Kaia’s expression goes blank for half a heartbeat, like she’s scanning her mental list of which lies do we tell civilians.
“I saw it last night too,” I add quickly. “A few times, while we were...’”
Kaia exhales, slow, and something in her shoulders eases like she’s choosing truth with me instead of the script.
“It’s resonance. Magic. When we draw our weapons, our whole nervous system becomes the conduit.
For a second, it… bleeds to the surface.
Eyes, throat, palms. The glamour seals after, but there’s a moment where the aura leaks… ”
“So the purple isn’t contacts,” I say, stupidly, because my brain wants something simple.
Kaia’s gaze holds mine. “No.”
Something in my chest twists. “So the world literally sees you light up.”
Kaia gives a short laugh. “For a second."
“And everyone just… buys that it’s an effect?” I ask.
Kaia’s voice goes smooth automatically, like she can’t help it. “The Halo Glint. Signature contacts plus lighting cues. Sometimes AR overlays for the screens.”
I stare at her.
She winces. “Sorry. That’s the—” She clears her throat. “That’s the cover.”
“Uh-huh,” I say flatly. “And if your eyes do it longer than a second?”
Kaia’s expression tightens. “Then something’s wrong,” she admits. “Wards failing. Injury. Something pushing in.”
“And last night? …Now?”
Kaia’s throat works. She looks at my hand still holding her face, and something tender flickers there, like she’s trying to be careful with honesty.
“Last night was… a lot,” she says. Her eyes lift back to mine. “And now—” she hesitates, then admits, “now it’s just emotion. The glamour isn’t built for… this. Not for being human. Not for feeling this much.”
I hold her gaze for a beat, then—because I’m me—I mutter, “Hmm.”
Kaia’s brow lifts. “What?”
“They’re pretty,” I say, like it’s a fact I’m annoyed about. “It’s inconvenient.”
Kaia laughs again, then shifts closer, pressing her weight into me. Her knee slides between my legs under the sheet and my brain short-circuits like it forgot it has a job besides panicking.
She kisses the corner of my mouth. “I missed you.”
I go still. It hits too hard because it’s honest and because I missed her too and I hate that.
My voice comes out rough. “I missed you too, Kaia…”
Kaia’s whole face changes. Relief, grief, hunger—everything flickers through her like she can’t decide what to do with being wanted.
She leans in and kisses me slowly, then nuzzles at my cheek, my jaw.
I don’t really move. Not because I don’t want her. But because my body is still catching up to the fact that wanting her doesn’t automatically mean I’m about to be left.
Kaia notices immediately. Of course she does. She pulls back, just enough to see my face. Her gaze studies me like she’s reading for fracture lines.
“Are you okay?” she asks quietly.
I laugh once, dry. “Define okay.”
Kaia’s mouth twists. “Fair.”
Silence stretches. I can hear traffic outside, faint. The town already waking into festival day. The distant echo of someone testing speakers down near the pier—one bass note that vibrates the air like a heartbeat.
My wrist tingles faintly under the skin.
Reminder.
Rules.
Consequences.
Kaia notices my stare and shifts, propping her chin on her hand. “You’re the one overthinking now.”
“Unfortunately,” I repeat.
Kaia’s smile softens again. “Evie.”
“What?”
She takes a slow breath like she’s about to step onto a stage without armor.
Then she says, quietly, “Do you… forgive me?”
The words land like a dropped plate. My stomach twists.
That’s the question, isn’t it? The one I’ve been avoiding. The one I’ve been punishing her with instead of answering.
Kaia’s eyes are wide and scared in a way I almost never see, like she can fight demons but not my silence.
I stare at her.
My brain flashes through everything at once: the pier, the kiss, the fight, the way she left, the way she came back with blood on her face, the way she stood in front of me like a shield in a hallway full of suits.
Sex did not fix our shit.
But it did strip away some of the distance I’ve been using as a weapon.
It did make me look at her like a person again.
And that is… terrifying.
I exhale slowly, and the truth comes out in pieces.
“I forgive you,” I say, and the words hurt on the way out, like pulling a thorn from skin that’s grown around it. “I do.”
Kaia’s whole face changes. Shock first. Then something like relief that she doesn’t trust. I lift a hand before she can speak, because I can already feel her hope trying to make this into a miracle.
“But it still hurts,” I add, voice rough. “It’s not… magic. It’s not like you say sorry and my chest stops hurting.”
Kaia’s expression tightens with pain. “Okay.”
“And I’m not pretending it didn’t happen,” I continue, because if I don’t say it plainly I’ll backslide into anger again. “I’m not pretending you didn’t leave. I’m not pretending you didn’t say what you said.”
Kaia flinches, guilt flickering over her face.
“But,” I say, because there’s still a but and I hate that there’s a but, “I understand more than I did.”
Her eyes flick up. Hope flashes—dangerous.
I glare at her reflexively. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m sorry,” she says immediately, but she’s smiling now, like she can’t help it.
I roll my eyes. “You were scared,” I say, and it tastes bitter in my mouth. “And you were under pressure. And you were… young. We were both young.”
Kaia’s throat bobs. “Yeah.”
“That doesn’t excuse it,” I snap, because I need that line to exist. “But it explains it.”
Kaia nods quickly. “Yes.”
I stare at the ceiling again because eye contact is too much. “And I—” My voice catches. I clear my throat and try again. “I’m sorry for… punishing you so much.”
Kaia goes very still. Her breath hitches, and my own chest tightens because I can’t believe I said that out loud.
“I had a right to be angry,” I add quickly, defensive.
“You did,” Kaia says, voice rough.
“I still do,” I warn.
Kaia nods once, solemn. “Yeah.”
I swallow. “But I’ve been… using it. Like a knife. Because if I keep you bleeding, I don’t have to feel—” I cut myself off, jaw clenched.
Feel what?